


toothache

by caandlelit



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Banter, Dom/sub Undertones, Flirting, Fluff, I Want That Twink Obliterated, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Haikyuu!! Chapter 402: Final Chapter: Challengers, Tender Sex, Tenderness, and hes a dancer, bffs with konoha, hanamaki deserves a dog so much man, hanamaki gets fucking RAILED because thats what he deserves, no other words to describe the utter mushy bs here, so hanamaki went to fukurodani
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/pseuds/caandlelit
Summary: The dog lifts its head up and stares at him with it’s bright, intelligent, soft eyes.He crouches down, bringing the umbrella over the beaten down and torn cardboard box to protect it from the rain, and offers his hand thoughtlessly. He whispers softly, trying his best not to frighten it, ‘Hi.’It lets out a low, quiet and rough sounding woof.Takahiro almost sniffles.(hanamaki takahiro finds a dog and takes it home. in the morning there is a naked man in his bed.)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 35
Kudos: 387





	toothache

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/caandlelit/status/1296420362549440519?s=20)  
> i spent a month forming a werewolf matsun witch makki au in my head, realized i wanted it to be long as shit, realized it would take me years, realized i wanted more werewolf matsun content now, and then wrote another tender matsuhana porno because thats ALL i do
> 
> i hope u like it!!!!! <3

Takahiro doesn’t like walking home alone.

He does it way too often for his liking and it makes absolutely no sense to him.

He’s young and fun and tolerates people, he’s sociable enough for a millennial his age, he has so many close friends and he’s _been_ to house parties and he’s _in_ contact with all his friends and he’s moderately active on social media and _all_ of that.

At twenty six, he’s not as wild as he was in the heights of his grand total of two (useless and regrettable) collage years before he’d dropped out to work his way up the modern dance community, but he’s sociable _enough_ , goddammit.

So why does he live alone? Why isn’t he getting any? Is this just the post dropping out life, the result of being a homebody, is this his fate? Forever alone, like one of those MySpace posts everyone makes fun of? Should he have finished his education?

Nah, he decides. No way.

He does miss being a giant flirt at college parties sometimes. Takahiro was in his fucking prime at age twenty one, hair bleached blonde (now _that_ was an era, he thinks wistfully), eyeliner pink and tank top neon green, smirking ‘cause he knew how he looked and having guys walk up to him with stars in their eyes.

He’s not even exaggerating. Takahiro was always _such_ a hit at parties. Akinori used to refuse to go out without him.

But five years and he’s still single and he still lives alone, in his cramped one bedroom apartment, while his half his friends are either getting married or getting Olympic gold medals or are buried deep in the filing cabinets of whatever industry they chose to die in, but at least none of them are _single_.

Except Haruki, he corrects himself. God bless Komi Haruki and their bimonthly let’s-get-shitfaced-and-cry-and-complain-about-being-single-together-also-curse-the-day-Aki-and-Yamato-started-dating ritual. He’s the only real one.

Maybe, Takahiro muses, tossing his bag strap over his shoulder, worn white dancing shoes dangling to-and-fro from one hand as he shuts and locks the door to the dance studio where he teaches, opening his novelty Kirby pink umbrella and starting the walk back to his apartment complex. Maybe, walking home alone would be a lot easier if he had someone to go home to.

It’s not easy, dating, nope, not for a free soul like him, who’s been described as ‘vaguely bitter’, and, ‘rudely sardonic’, and his very favorite, to have a ‘highly vulgar’ and ‘sometimes confusing’ sense of humor.

Yes, he’s been fired from a lot of customer service jobs.

In his defense he’s just not built for that shit.

Now, he _loves_ his current job, teaching adorable little wide eyed kids how to dance, and getting to listen to their crazy fucking thoughts and telling them the meanings of the big funny words he says and letting them ooh and ahh over his pink hair and watching them come up with their own funky little dance moves and call him ‘Taka-sensei’. (Teeth rottingly cute.)

He also teaches people of all other ages, but Thursday is the highlight of his week purely because of the kids.

In another life, Takahiro is a kindergarten teacher, he’s sure of it.

Unfortunately, Thursday was yesterday, and today was for the middle aged women learning to dance. It’s like, an okay class. Some of them are very rude and overly superior, but they balance out easily with others, including the lesbian couple that tease each other like they’ve known each other their whole lives and pat Takahiro on the head and call him a ‘nice young man’.

One time he almost teared up listening to them banter because God, he wants that.

It’s a cruel little world, and Takahiro reckons it’d be far easier if everyone was just assigned a partner at birth. It would be so much better that way. He’d give life a full five stars if you had an easy path to finding your soulmate.

At least, he reasons, he wouldn’t have wasted so much of his time on blind dates that one horrible month when Akinori had been struck with rom-com style inspiration and a violent need to get Takahiro a boyfriend.

He’s his best friend but he’s fucking nuts.

Takahiro moves the umbrella to the side and comes to a stop, lets the rain drip his hair wet and soak his face, clinging to his lashes and getting his shirt damp.

He stands there for a moment, breathing it in.

Pulling the umbrella back over his head, he shakes the droplets from his hair and keeps walking.

After all, people can’t all be like Iwaizumi and Oikawa, famously meeting within five years in the world as next door neighbors and then, childhood sweethearts, and then, building careers that were centered around volleyball and each other.

Or lovely Akaashi, who’d met Bokuto at the tender age of fifteen and followed him everywhere since then.

They’ve been together for basically a decade now and Takahiro, who’s seen them grow up and dance around each other and was very involved with making bets with Haruki and Akinori and Yamato about when they’d finally get together, is truly, very proud.

(He’s not _so_ proud of the bets, seeing as Akinori had won the pool at their high school graduation ceremony. He’s still a tad bitter, maybe.)

He’s a little lonely, he can admit that to himself.

Takahiro sighs, turning the corner and observing the evening street life of people hurrying home and locking up their businesses and getting in cabs, the summer rain a cool reprieve from the humid week they’ve all had.

The walk home is nice enough, he supposes. Takahiro loves Tokyo, the bustle of people’s lives is extremely entertaining to observe. Growing up in Miyagi, he’d always wanted to come to Tokyo and he’d been overjoyed when his mom had told him they were moving at the end of his last year of junior high.

It’s a pretty short walk, a pleasant breather after his long day. Sometimes he gets a coffee and creampuff combo at that one hole in the wall bakery next to the funeral home and two streets from the dance studio on the way home, and of course, he gets to look forward to relaxing his poor feet after a longass day of tiptoeing and traditional dancing classes, with his own personal time practicing his craft afterhours upon the classes.

He’s walking past the bakery and gazing longingly at the display case, emitting a warm light and showcasing decadent cakes and pastries, when he glances away for a second and sees the dog.

Yellow, glinting eyes, a matted, dark and soaked form just barely visible in the shadows, shivering underneath a cardboard box in the alley besides the store and the funeral home.

The rain falls onto the box, shaking the roof and dripping down the sides.

Takahiro furrows his brows, and steps into the alley, shoes splish-splashing in the wet street.

The dog lifts its head up and stares at him with it’s bright, intelligent, soft eyes.

He crouches down, bringing the umbrella over the beaten down and torn cardboard box to protect it from the rain, and offers his hand thoughtlessly. He whispers softly, trying his best not to frighten it, _‘Hi.’_

It lets out a low, quiet and rough sounding woof.

Takahiro almost sniffles. 

Because Takahiro likes animals, and he likes cats, but he absolutely _adores_ dogs. He’d never been allowed to get a dog as a kid, because his sister Himiko was scared of them and his mom liked cats better anyway, so they’d gotten a cat, and sure he loves Kiki-chan but dogs will always be number one in his heart.

The dog, who is huge up close and a very tight fit in the cardboard box, rubs his snout against Takahiro’s palm and sniffs, then licks his hand wetly and Takahiro lets out a giggly little noise of shock and he beams down at the dog and the dog practically beams back at him.

Takahiro slides his hand into his soaking fur coat and feels his heart melt and his cool reputation shrivel up and die as the giant dog leans into his touch and comes out of the box like a moth to a flame, burying his snout against Takahiro’s thigh and curling into the fabric of his leggings and Takahiro ruffles his fur and _coos_.

‘Aww, what a good dog. You’re such a good dog, perfect dog, so nice and cute, why’re you out here? What the fuck? How could anyone ever have the heart to leave you?’

The dog shakes his fur violently, showering Takahiro’s face with rainwater and making him laugh out loud and delighted.

He blinks up at him innocently and seems to say, _no fucking clue, I’m as confused as you are._

Takahiro’s smile widens and he balances his Kirby umbrella into the crook of his neck and cups the dog’s stupid-big head in between his hands, tilting it up and staring at his bright eyes. ‘Hey. I know we just met and this is crazy but. Do you wanna live with me? Wait, fuck, I don’t actually know if dogs are allowed in my apartment building, so we’re gonna have to be careful. And also, side note, like, no offence, but you might have fleas, which would suck, so. Gonna need to give you bath, dude.’

The dog looks as immensely displeased as dogs are capable of looking and growls, deep in his throat, snarls at him a little, teeth big and sharp and pointed and Takahiro gives him his best disappointed look. ‘Come off it, don’t give me that doggie posturing, it won’t work. I teach toddlers scarier than you. I’ve met _grandmas_ scarier than you. The Vee-league Black Jackals’ team _mascot_ is scarier than you.’

The dog looks offended, or maybe he’s just projecting. Takahiro would be pretty offended if someone had roasted him as thoroughly as he just roasted this dog. He congratulates himself internally on the epic burn, and then immediately feels like shit.

The dog is looking up at him with those lovely dog eyes, and he’s whimpering and looking so pitiful, and Takahiro melts.

‘Aw, no, I’m sorry, babe, don’t make that face. But for real, it’ll be all warm and in an actual bathtub. Plus I will absolutely _not_ let you on the furniture unless you let me give you a bath, so suck it up and let’s go.’

The dog pokes his snout at his thigh and lets out a short, loud woof, waggling his tail and Takahiro grins down at him and decides he should’ve gotten a dog ages ago.

He straightens up and tells him that, adjusting his hold on the umbrella and the dog nudges his leg and Takahiro almost falls down. ‘What the hell! Fucking asshole, you’re like huge, stop that, what’re you, half wolf or some shit? ‘S that why your eyes are yellow? Fine, I’m sorry, I don’t want some lame other dog, you’re the best dog ever. Happy?’

The dog trots along with its oversized legs easily and almost lazily keeping up beside him, seemingly satisfied.

The walk home is suddenly ten times better.

Takahiro shushes the dog, shoving his key into the keyhole, creampuff keychain jingling obnoxiously loud and the dog lets out this tiny, disgustingly cute bark that sounds like it belongs to a puppy, not some fucking lumbering giant like him.

He says it out loud as he steps in, the dog nipping at his heels playfully as if in retort.

Takahiro shuts the door and squints down at him. ‘Y’know, you’re way too smart for a dog that looks as fucking stupid as you.’

The dog licks his leg, long and slobbering and Takahiro lets out an embarrassingly high pitched half-squeal half-groan of dismay, jerking back and bemoaning, ‘Not my leggings, shit, you _shithead!_ Worst pet award at the pet show, you’re unbelievable. Also, by the way, what the hell do dogs eat?’

He drops his bag on the floor and tosses his keys into the bowl on the tiny coffee table in his tiny living room, throwing himself onto the sofa and sighing in relief as he curls into the arm, unlacing his vans and throwing them carelessly, one after the other, at the general direction of the doorway.

He scoffs and says, ‘Fuck _off_ , you filthy animal,’ as the dog sniffs dubiously at one upturned shoe and nudges it gently out of the way before making his way towards Takahiro, immediately trying to climb onto the sofa.

Takahiro scolds him as he gently tugs him down, which is very hard because of how huge the bastard is.

‘ _No,_ dude! No, don’t even think about it buddy, I have no idea if you’re clean or-,’ he shudders, ‘-flea _infested_. Do not give me those big eyes, they won’t work, I’m a horribly cruel person.’

The dog whines and snuffles and when that doesn’t work, barks loudly, like he’s yelling at him and Takahiro shakes his head obstinately. ‘Nuh-uh, no way! Get fucked! Bath first, and that’s final,’ he says firmly.

The dog sits back on his haunches like a good dog then, defeated and sulky, and Takahiro coos, ‘Good doggie, such a good boy, I love you baby.’

He tilts his head back and leans against the back of the sofa, sinking into the plush cushions, completely missing the dog’s odd snorting noise at the lightning quick change in demeanor.

Takahiro crosses his legs and tugs off his socks, tossing them on the other end of the couch. He massages his foot and _whines_ in relief. ‘Hey, dog? Shit, gonna have to name you. Dog, never go into dancing, okay? You’ll get all of the pains. All of them. Athletes foot and arthritis and trigger toe and fuckin’ football butt and _everything_. My feet fucking ache, this _sucks_. Don’t even think about licking them I’ll fucking destroy you. But don’t stop wagging your tail ‘cause it’s the only thing keeping me going. Just keep wagging. Good dog. Also give me like, one minute, and then I’ll give you a bath. Yeah, eat shit, I didn’t forget, motherfucker.’

Giving him a bath is best described as a _challenge_. Takahiro fills up the tub and wonders out loud, giant dog at his heels, ‘Shit, can I make bubbles? You deserve bubbles, you’re perfect, ah _fuck_ , don’t lick me, bitch, but wait, I don’t know if bubbles are _okay_ for dogs. You’re so dumb, what if you like, inhale one and die?’ He pulls out his phone and googles it, squinting at the screen.

The dog sits patiently on the floor, waiting.

‘Okay, it says if you’re relaxed enough and don’t go crazy in there, it’s fine. You’re pretty mellow, I think it’s okay.’ He sets his phone away and looks down at him. The dog looks back up, blinking indolently.

‘Now. Let’s try not to get me soaked, huh?’

He gets soaked, inevitably. Takahiro spends the next twenty minutes kneeling on the floor beside his tub and scrubbing shampoo into his shaggy, rain-soaked fur and revealing a dark, almost glossy coat.

He also discovers that the dog _doesn’t_ have fleas after all, and loudly declares their success and his complete and utter shock, because wow, didn’t see that one coming, you _look_ like a horrible beast, dog-chan.

That’s when he gets soaked, spluttering and groaning. He pulls off his drenched t-shirt and tosses it at the door where it lands on the floor with a splat. He narrows his eyes at it and wonders if he should pick it up, before his attention is pulled back to the dog, licking wetly at his shoulder. Takahiro curses him loud and angry and scratches him under the chin so he stops making that smug dog face.

Once they’re done and the dog is dry and gleaming and smelling like Takahiro’s strawberry shampoo and all three of his hand towels are drenched, he kicks him out of the bathroom, despite his mournful whine. ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s my turn to shower now.’ 

He drains the bath and showers quickly, not taking the time to enjoy a long shower like he usually does because he’s hungry as fuck and he’s assuming the dog is, too.

He gets out, towel wrapped around his middle and is immediately hounded by the dog, on the floor in front of the bathroom door, kicking his legs up and practically attaching himself to Takahiro’s bare calves and he snorts, ‘Wow, get away from me you actual horndog, you’re just like all the other men. Should’ve known.’

Dog-chan looks affronted and Takahiro laughs and steps into his room, half shutting the door. He changes into his most comfortable sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, then comes out and makes his way to the kitchen, calling out, ‘Dog? Fuck, _really_ gotta name you, dog-dude, _hey_ , if you’re done exploring, it’s time for dinner!’

The dog pads into the kitchen, lazy and slow and practically drapes himself over Takahiro’s tiled floor next to his small table.

He shakes his head at it, opening the fridge and confiding, ‘Y’know, I’ve heard that you shouldn’t name strays or you’ll get attached. Well I’m _definitely_ attached and I’ve no fucking clue what they meant by that saying, I was attached _way_ before I decided I’ve gotta name you. I saw your horrible big eyes, dog, and you stole my heart. Even if you are the laziest good boy on the planet.’

Takahiro pulls out yesterday’s yakitori and heats it up and furrows his slim brows at the dog, half asleep on the floor. ‘Okay, that’s _my_ dinner. What the fuck am I gonna feed _you_?’

The dog makes a low rumbling noise like _‘how the fuck should I know, dumbass’._

‘I really wish I’d stop projecting on you, there’s no way you’re smart enough to understand humans. My mom has a cat, Kiki, and cats are really smart, actually. But dogs are the himbos of animals, man. No way you understand Japanese.’

He grabs a couple of plates and fills them up with the chicken, setting one on the floor and one on the table and sits down. The dog eats it easily and Takahiro decides there’s no need to worry about dog salmonella or whatever.

They eat in comfortable silence, the dog nudging at his leg for more once he’s done and Takahiro raises an eyebrow. The dog does the accursed, woeful puppy eyes look and Takahiro laughs softly and complies, saying, ‘Y’know, I made this myself. Yeah, you better believe it, fucker, I’m a pretty good cook. It’s unbelievable that I’m still single, I deserve all the men.’

The dog licks his ankle and Takahiro groans. ‘Should I just get used to the constant licking? Fuck. I’m gonna have to call you Lickitung or something embarrassing like that if you don’t stop that shit- fucking _Christ_ , that doesn’t mean to switch to _biting_ , asshole!’

Takahiro brushes his teeth and does his nightly routine, scrubbing his face clean and rubbing in his hand lotion well between his fingers, poking suspiciously at his fringe as the dog watches, head tilted and eyes bright.

He pulls off his shirt and switches his sweats for shorts, tossing the pants at his desk before getting in bed. Takahiro plugs his phone in and clicks shuffle on his favorite relaxing Spotify playlist and settles back.

Then he remembers, and says, ‘Ah shit, what about you?’

He looks down at the dog. The dog looks back up at him, again with his eyes doing that infernal thing where they go big and beseeching.

Takahiro sighs. He lifts up the sheets and gestures vaguely, hoping the dog will understand. He’s far too tired for words.

The dog climbs up easily, shuffling around before laying down over his bare legs, making for an excellent, super soft weighted blanket.

‘Goodnight, dog.’

He snuffles in reply, already half asleep. Takahiro shuts his eyes and buries his face in his pillow, more comfortable than he’s been in years.

Takahiro wakes up with the morning sunlight streaming in softly through his window, and for the first time in three years his Spotify isn’t still playing.

That’s not the first thing he notices.

The first thing he notices is that he is immensely comfortable and so warm, and curled up into a hard, bare chest.

He blinks at the feeling of chest hair rough against his cheek and smelling, oddly enough, of his own strawberry shampoo.

It feels good. So he squirms in closer to the body heat of whatever guy is in bed with him, and _feels_ his chest move with a pleased sigh as a strong arm rewraps itself tighter around his waist.

He shuts his eyes. It’s Saturday, he can sleep in.

Then his eyes snap open as the situation registers and he jerks back with a strangled scream and he falls out of the bed.

He gets up and stares at the naked man in his bed, tan with messy dark hair and thick eyebrows and he’s shifting, now half awake and groaning quietly at the racket.

‘Oh my god! _Who the fuck are you?’_

The guy blinks blearily, and mumbles in a deep voice, rough and scratchy with sleep, ‘Aw fuck, come back,’ making grabby hands as he speaks.

Takahiro stares at him, angrier. ‘No! What the fuck? Who are you? How did you get here? _Why are you in my bed!_ Shit, where is my dog, get out of my fucking bed, I have a giant dog and he will rip your fucking face off.’

The guy props himself up on his elbows and regards Takahiro with dark, soft eyes, the bedsheets pooling around his hips and drawing Takahiro’s gaze to his defined pecs and abs. Takahiro blinks, then flushes and his eyes snap back up to his face and his thick eyebrows are waggling.

 _Asshole_ , he realizes.

_This guy is an asshole._

He grins lazily and says, almost teasingly, ‘Aw, you don’t remember me?’

Takahiro squints and shakes his head no. He’d probably remember a guy as admittedly hot as this.

(Unbelievable. Apparently, if you complain loud enough internally about wanting a boyfriend, god just throws one down into your bed? Did he manifest this guy? What other explanation is there for a man exactly his type lying naked in his bed?)

His grin widens. ‘Really? You called me a bunch of names. Dog-chan was _very_ cute, but then again, so was, ‘disgusting filthy beast’. I was particularly fond of ‘asshole’. Still blanking? You even gave me a _bath_.’

Takahiro says, ‘No.’

The guy is grinning so wide and amused now, dimples indenting his stubbled cheeks, teeth gleaming and shit, are his canines slightly sharper than the rest or is that a trick of the light?

‘ _No?’_ He repeats tauntingly.

Takahiro buries his face in his hands and whines. When he looks up the guy is yawning and stretching languidly, his limbs over-large and his movements slow and unhurried in a way that’s almost familiar.

‘No, as in no fucking way you’re the dog. Dog-men don’t exist.’

The guy leans back and sighs, and says, ‘Why couldn’t we have had this conversation in bed? Come back, for real, you might wanna sit down for this.’

Takahiro blinks. ‘You’re a strange man in my bed claiming to be my dog. Why would I get back into bed with you?’

He blinks back. ‘We were so _comfortable_ ,’ he says imploringly. ‘You smelt so _nice_ , you were so soft, and you were warm, weren’t you?’

Takahiro considers this, because it is around nine a.m and he’s had a long week and honestly, he really _was_ very comfortable.

He stares as the guy’s eyes go big and wide, the fucking puppy dog look.

Christ, he’s the fucking dog, this is ridiculous, he should not get in bed. He should kick him out and send him home.

On the other hand.

‘You _were_ pretty comfortable,’ he admits.

The guy flutters his eyelashes, which should be fucking ridiculous on a fully grown man like him but instead it’s just endearing.

‘And… I _was_ pretty warm,’ Takahiro says slowly. Then he sighs. ‘Okay.’

The guy beams winningly and Takahiro climbs back onto the bed and stares at him expectantly. ‘Explanation time, babe.’

The guy deflates, as if he’d _actually_ thought Takahiro was gonna snuggle back into his chest even though he is _fully_ naked. Who the fuck even is he.

‘Well, you’re wrong about the dog bit. I’m a wolf, actually.’

Takahiro stares.

‘Well, _were_ wolf,’ he corrects himself.

He stares harder.

‘Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,’ he says flatly.

‘Matsukawa Issei actually, it’s wonderful to meet you,’ responds Matsukawa Issei.

‘Ha- Oh my god. Hanamaki Takahiro. Are you- Are you conning me right now? What the fuck. Am I being pranked, or conned, what’re you gonna steal? Money? My food? My dignity?’

Matsukawa Issei has the gall to look pleased with himself and says, ‘No, no con, no prank. But according to you, I’ve already stolen your heart, so there is that.’

Takahiro inhales, and exhales sharply.

So he’s an actual fucking werewolf.

 _This is fucking crazy!_ the rational side of his brain screams. _Who fucking cares!_ his dick replies even though it wasn’t even a part of the discussion.

He tries his very best to ignore his currently loud and raging horny side. A difficult task, but he manages.

Takahiro blinks up at him. ‘Hm. Okay. Cool. Okay Matsukawa, I have a few questions.’

He nods and says, ‘You can call me Issei. Understandable, of course you do, it’s not every day you meet a real mythical creature in the flesh, after all-‘

‘Why were you outside in the rain,’ Takahiro interrupts.

Issei covers his face with his hand and groans, and, well, see, please don’t hate on him but Takahiro just can’t help but notice the lovely size of his hand, all huge palm and long fingers and big knuckles and tan skin, his nails painted a chipped black, contrasting with Takahiro’s own pale pink nails. _Aw, they’re kind of matching._

He stops his train of thought before he can ruin his own life any further.

‘Why’d you ask the most embarrassing question of all,’ Issei grumbles, and then sighs and explains. ‘See, it was the full moon yesterday-‘

‘No, really!’ Takahiro can’t help but say.

‘-Yes, really, and obviously, I’m usually already inside on the full moon, but yesterday, I made the terrible, horrible decision to go on a walk-‘

‘A walk!’ Takahiro repeats, disbelievingly. ‘You went on a walk!’

‘-Yeah, babe, a walk, and I was in the park and the moon came out and bam! I turned into a wolf and I was locked out of my fucking apartment. I live above the funeral home by that bakery, the one you found me near, I run the funeral home so I live above it-‘

‘You run a funeral home!’

‘-Yes, yes I do. And my clothes were in the park, and my keys were in my pocket, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but wolves don’t have _hands_ , so I couldn’t get the keys or get into my apartment. I’d accepted my fate to stay in the alley next to my own fucking home until the moon shifted, and then you showed up.’ He inhales at the end, seemingly out of breath after the long explanation, like he isn’t used to talking that much at once.

Takahiro blinks.

‘Like an angel in disguise,’ Issei adds dryly, but his dark, heavy lidded eyes are warm and genuine.

Takahiro sits up and says, ‘That is the single saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my whole entire life.’

Issei hesitates, and then shrugs defeatedly. ‘Yeah, you’re right, it’s pretty bad.’

‘You got locked out of your own apartment.’

‘Yep.’

‘You were gonna sleep in that horrible cardboard box.’

‘Mhm.’

‘In the alley next to your own fucking home and establishment.’

‘Yeah, don’t rub it in, Hanamaki.’

Takahiro looks at him, dripping golden and lounging in his sheets, and thinks, _good god_ , then says, ‘You can call me Takahiro.’

Issei grins at him and says, ‘Okay. Takahiro. Hey, can we sleep more? ‘Cause it’s my day off and I don’t usually get much sleep and your bed is really comfortable.’

Takahiro is very tired himself, and now he feels like he deserves to snuggle up to Issei’s chest, so he agrees. ‘If you put on some fucking pants then sure, because right now your dick is out and we’d get distracted.’

He glances down and says, sounding mystified, ‘Huh. Right you are.’

He gets up and Takahiro is treated to an eyeful of round ass and muscled thighs and wide, tan back. _Don’t mind if I do._

Issei makes his way over the Takahiro’s closet and pulls out a pair of grey sweats and says, turning around to pull them on, as Takahiro is shamelessly blessed by the sight of his soft cock, ‘I’ll wear pants, if only because you implied we might fuck.’

‘Bit of an exhibitionist, aren’t you,’ he says, ignoring his previous statement. He won’t give him the satisfaction.

Issei runs a hand through his messy hair, styled in a cool undercut, and replies, grinning, ‘Just repaying the favor. After all, I got to drool over a _lot_ of skin yesterday.’ 

Takahiro blinks, then pulls the sheets over his head to hide his blush and does his best to ignore Issei, laughing loud and crowing and unbearably cute.

Then he’s making himself unignorable, tugging the sheets down and kissing the top of Takahiro’s head wet and smacking, ‘Aw, don’t be embarrassed, baby.’

He buries his face in his hands. ‘Oh my god. You were a dog and you were a horndog and you are a human and a fucking horndog, oh my god _why_ -‘

Issei ruffles his hair, his hand big and warm, and gets under the sheets, laying down and lifting an arm in invitation.

‘C’mon. Get in here, you can freak out later.’

Takahiro admits defeat and shuffles in immediately, using his bicep as a pillow and loping an arm around his back, pressing his hand against his warm skin and almost _purring_ at the feeling of the hard chest against his.

Issei hums, warm hand sliding down Takahiro’s back to rest just above his ass and making him shiver, nosing into his hair and, ‘Are you fucking smelling me?’

‘Shh, you smell good, go t’sleep baby,’ comes his slurred reply and Takahiro snorts and shuts his eyes, slowly slipping into sleep again.

When Takahiro next wakes, it’s well after noon and his bed is empty but still slightly warm, and there’s the sound of pots clanging together coming from his kitchen.

He stretches and groans. Best sleep he’s ever had in his _life._

Takahiro brushes his teeth then makes his way to the kitchen and there he is, tall and half naked morning glory.

Issei’s found his frying pan, set to warm on the stove and he’s chopping up vegetables, eggs ready on the counter.

Takahiro stands in the doorway and appreciates the lovely view of his wide shoulders, the expanse of his bare, muscled back, tanned and broad and gold-plated with the light streaming through his window, gaze roaming over the sweats slung low on his hips and his arms, thick and strong and looking like they could lift Takahiro up easily, carry him to bed, hold him up against the wall.

His posture is terrible and his bedhead is even worse.

Takahiro thinks he might have a crush on his dog.

And then he winces, because that sounds so fucking bad.

‘Werewolf-man, are you making me breakfast? I didn’t know dogs could cook,’ he says, coming forward to lean against Issei’s side and watch him slice and peel onions in quick, precise wrist movements.

Issei hip-checks him in greeting. ‘Good morning to you, too. I’m making omelettes.’

‘It’s almost one, actually, and I don’t like onions in my omelettes,’ Takahiro informs him, resting his head on his shoulder.

Issei hums, and switches hands to cut with his left and wraps the other arm around Takahiro’s waist. What a gentleman. Gentle-wolf.

‘Good thing this is all for me, then,’ he says cheerily.

Takahiro changes his mind. He rolls his eyes. Issei’s no gentleman.

‘You’re an asshole,’ he tells him, and slips away from his arm and his warmth to grab a fork to whisk the eggs.

‘No, come back, I’m so sorry,’ he drones in reply.

Takahiro comes back to crack the eggs into a bowl and then ducks away from the half-hearted swipe of his hand and sits on the kitchen island to mix the eggs.

‘Nope, you broke my heart.’

‘Forgive me, I was lying, this is all for you.’

The pause is comfortable, as Takahiro soaks in his presence and the idea that something is _all for him._

‘But I don’t like onions.’

‘Why not, they’re good. They have layers.’

‘I really wish I didn’t get that Shrek reference.’ Takahiro abandons the kitchen island because it’s boring and the eggs are probably whisked enough, and brings the bowl over to the counter, leaning against Issei to watch him slice tomatoes into little pieces.

‘Are you mad I made a Shrek reference, baby?’

‘I think,’ Takahiro says, ‘That it would be really hard for me to get mad at you.’

Issei slides the tomatoes into the egg mix and sets down the knife, and curves his hand around Takahiro’s jaw to pull him in and make them face each other.

Takahiro looks up at him and wow, when did they get that close.

‘Hi,’ he says, struck dumb.

His eyes are dark brown and so warm and he replies, quiet and raspy, ‘Hey,’ and kisses the corner of Takahiro’s mouth. He pulls back an inch, hovering in front of his face.

He has a mole above his left eyebrow, Takahiro notes distantly.

Takahiro huffs, hyper aware of their breath mingling. ‘Shut up,’ he says.

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

Takahiro feels his cheeks burning with that dark, soft gaze lingering on him and he clears his throat and turns to pour half the egg mix onto the pan and it simmers, crackling and yellow. Issei presses against his back and winds his strong arms around Takahiro’s waist and mouths at his throat, hot and wet and Takahiro sighs and leans back into him helplessly.

It feels completely impossible but Takahiro wonders if this is gonna be a thing.

He corrects himself when he turns around and catches the tender look on Issei’s face, the glint of dark eyes and messy curls falling across his forehead, his broad shoulders.

His breath hitches.

Ah. Probably this will be _the_ thing.

He stretches his arm up and messes up his hair and turns in his arms to grab the spatula and fuck up the omelette into a scrambled mess, as revenge for making Takahiro fall in love.

(Half love. He’s not there yet. Takahiro doesn’t believe in love at first sight.

Things are looking like he might make an exception for Issei, however, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Issei’s chin digs into his shoulder and he says helpfully, hot breath and lips grazing the shell of Takahiro’s ear, ‘That’s yours, by the way. No onions.’

Takahiro sighs aggravatedly. Great.

‘I knew that, I like scrambled better anyways,’ he retorts, lying through his teeth. He hates scrambled eggs.

Issei snickers and Takahiro slides the egg into a plate, adding the onions to the remaining mix and whisking it a few times, then pouring it onto the pan. He turns and sits on the counter and Issei comes up in between his legs, resting his hands on the wall beside his head and caging him in.

‘You can have my egg,’ he offers.

‘Your egg has onions in it.’

‘I’ll pick them out. After all, you took such good care of me yesterday,’ he says.

‘You were a better dog than a human,’ Takahiro informs him.

‘Egg offer ends in three, two-‘

Takahiro kicks him and says, ‘Okay fine,’ and leans over to flip the omelette, only to let out a cry of dismay as the egg tears in the flipping process. _‘Fuck!’_

Issei laughs loud and bright and Takahiro leaps off the counter and frets over the fate of his omelette while Issei moves away to pull toast out of the toaster on the kitchen island.

‘Shit, I was gonna make you pick the onions out and then decide I want them and make you put them back in,’ he says sadly, poking at it.

Issei comes back next to him and steals the spatula, lifting up the biggest broken omelette piece and they both stare at it.

‘Rest in peace, egg-chan.’

‘Maybe we could put it back together,’ Issei says dubiously, jiggling it.

‘And how would you suggest we go about doing that, genius?’ Takahiro says, snatching back the spatula before he can break it even more and nudging him out of the way to slide the egg onto a plate, turning off the stove and taking the plates to his tiny table.

‘Well, if we add more egg, and mix it together, maybe it’ll work like glue?’

Takahiro sits down and stares at him. Issei stares back, straight-faced. His mouth twitches and he holds out the plate of toast as a peace offering and Takahiro laughs out loud, taking a slice and tearing off the corner. ‘Shut up and sit down, asshole.’

Issei grins and sits down and Takahiro hums. ‘Shouldn’t you be on the floor?’

His grin drops and he makes a sour face, kicking Takahiro lightly. ‘Eat shit.’

Takahiro winds his foot around the back of his leg and holds it there, letting their legs tangle under the table. ‘‘Work like glue’’ he repeats. ‘Have you ever _seen_ an egg before today?’

‘No, it’s my first time, please take care of me,’ he says, pressing his foot on top of Takahiro’s. He likes the weight, so he leaves it there.

Takahiro ignores the innuendo and says, ‘Why didn’t you just turn back into a human?’

Issei doesn’t even look fazed by the abrupt change in conversation topic, and he just swallows around his omelette and scoffs. ‘You can’t turn back into a human, this isn’t Twilight, dumbass.’

‘You’re impossibly fast and strong-‘ Takahiro starts automatically.

 _‘Okay,’_ Issei interrupts loudly, pressing his foot down against Takahiro’s toes and squashing them lightly. ‘I’m gonna stop you right there.’

Takahiro hums and chews thoughtfully.

He swallows and shrugs, admitting, ‘I _was_ always Team Jacob.’

Issei grins at that. ‘Yeah? D’you have a werewolf fetish, Takahiro? Do you read those trashy novels and watch the garbage chick flicks-‘

Takahiro says, ‘No, shut up, go fuck yourself,’ and tosses a tomato piece at his face and he laughs and catches it in his mouth easily, like a _freak_.

It’s like he knows everything Takahiro is gonna do and is prepared for it with the best comeback he could’ve asked for, every time.

It’s so fucking charming.

‘I’ve changed my mind, I’m Team Edward,’ he announces.

‘Oh yeah, are you into sparkling white stalker scumbags now?’ he taunts.

‘Yes,’ says Takahiro determinedly. ‘My man Edward knows how to _fuck_.’

Issei snorts loud and derisive and says, ‘ _No_ he doesn’t.’

‘Yeah he does, and he’s hung as _fuck_.’

‘White men aren’t _hung_ , Takahiro.’

‘Sure they are, Issei.’

Takahiro realizes with a start that they’re both grinning and leaning over the table, Issei’s forearms propped up on the table and they’re stealing each other’s food and in each other’s space, his bare legs tangled impossibly into Issei’s, eyes stuck on each other.

And they’re flirting and that’s fantastic but also for some reason Takahiro feels it in his bones that this is what he’s been looking for all his life, that this is _it_. And that’s a little scary.

He’s looking into Issei’s dark eyes and he knows Issei knows it too, he feels the electric shock every time they so much as graze hands.

And suddenly he needs air.

Takahiro finishes eating and gets up, taking the plates to the sink and running them under the tap, setting them aside to clean later.

He washes his hands methodically, watching the tips of his fingers shake ever so slightly, painfully aware that he’s never felt this way for someone before, forget this fast.

Then he feels the trembling slow and stop as Issei says in his slow drawl, ‘Name one attractive white man, Hiro,’ as he grabs a rag and wipes down the counter and table.

Just the sound of his voice has Takahiro’s shoulders loosening, stance relaxing and that means more than any words, any reassurances.

Suddenly he isn’t afraid at all.

Takahiro turns and raises an eyebrow at him, drying his hands with the towel hung by the door. ‘Um? Robert fucking Pattinson?’

‘…Okay, fine, name another.’

‘That guy from Vampire Diaries.’

‘Shit, uh, one more.’

‘Whoever voiced Shrek.’

‘Well, damn, you win, ‘Hiro,’ he says, coming up and taking the towel from Takahiro, wiping his hands.

Takahiro gets distracted by his fingers, purposeful and long and he forgets to reply and instead says, ‘Mm.’

He feels a hand slide softly into his hair and then Issei’s jerking his head up roughly and he almost whines, eyes going wide and staring up at him.

Issei’s gaze is intense, hunger written in the lines of his face, the quirk of his wet mouth, challenge in the slight subtle arch of his eyebrows. He’s leaning back, broad shoulders relaxed and confident and making Takahiro _itch_ to lean up and destroy the gap.

He doesn’t give in to the urge though. He’s not kissing first, nope, sex is a game and he’s gonna win.

‘Yes, Issei? Did you want something?’ He flattens his hand against Issei’s hard pecs and slowly drags his fingers and knuckles up to his shoulder, down to his upper arm, and wraps his fingers around his thick bicep, feeling him up.

Why the fuck does a mortician need to be so built, he wonders.

He wets his lips and Issei’s eyes immediately drop down to his mouth, dark and burning.

He hums, and replies, ‘I want a lot of things. World peace, Trump dead, another American diner near my neighborhood, the original writers working on the Avatar live-action remake.’

He pauses so Takahiro can nod his agreement because yes, all things he agrees one hundred percent with.

‘All equally important,’ he can’t help but crack.

Then Issei leans in closer and croons, ‘But what I really want is to _thank_ you. You’ve been so accommodating, Takahiro-chan, I’m so grateful, how could I _ever_ repay you.’

His big hand tightens in Takahiro’s hair, a sharp, painful, delicious contrast to his playful words and Takahiro swallows his whimper and decides, okay, fuck the game and fuck winning.

He rasps, ‘Oh, I don’t know, there’s probably some way,’ and leans up and kisses him hard.

Issei moans in appreciation and kisses back just as desperate, just as needy. He bites down, teeth sharp and tongue wet and laving at the sting within seconds and Takahiro loses all sense and reason, nothing besides a delirious fleeting thought of _oh, this is winning, this is what winning feels like._

Their first kiss is like winning.

It’s the sting of the ball against his palm in the summer, and the satisfying thud as it slams onto the court.

It’s that final leap into the air while dancing, knowing you’re hanging in mid-air, flying for a glorious, perfect moment.

It’s the rain, pouring down his frame as he stands, motionless on the sidewalk and taking it in and letting it consume him.

It’s somehow fierce and demanding and coaxing and tender all in one, lips slotting together perfectly and Issei’s hand, firm in his hair and tilting his head however he sees fit and the other hand is moving to stroke his back through his shirt, thumb pressing at Takahiro’s shoulder blades and sliding down, down to flatten itself against the small of his back, steady and heavy and perfect and he pushes them closer, flush together and Takahiro melts into him with a moan.

Takahiro pulls back and Issei chases, trying to catch his lips again and Takahiro kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth and the tip of his nose, then when he grins, eyes bright and dimples out, Takahiro kisses his lips and fists a hand in his tousled, curly hair and the other goes to his hip, tugging at the drawstrings of the sweats and Issei laughs into the kiss, low and rich.

He pulls back to grin down at him and his hand slides down to cup and grope at Takahiro’s ass through his shorts. Takahiro shuts his eyes so that he doesn’t let out the noise in the back of his throat.

When he opens them Issei’s practically oozing self-satisfaction.

Takahiro exhales raggedly, and says, ‘Shut up.’

Issei tightens his grip on Takahiro’s hair and his grip on his ass at the same time and Takahiro _whines_ , eyes fluttering at how good it all is.

Issei lets out a huff of a laugh.

‘You’re totally Team Jacob,’ he murmurs, eyes glinting yellow.

‘I’m Team Issei, fucker,’ Takahiro replies breathlessly. ‘Did you know your eyes go a little yellow sometimes?’

He looks pleasantly surprised. ‘Huh,’ he says, mouth busying itself with Takahiro’s neck, dropping kisses. ‘No I didn’t, but that sounds _epic_.’

‘It’s not, it’s fucking weird,’ Takahiro informs him.

‘Liar,’ Issei says, breath hot on his neck. ‘You think it’s hot.’ He bites down, sharp teeth sinking into the pale, tender skin at Takahiro’s neck and Takahiro forgets to reply because he’s busy whimpering _fuck yes please harder more._

Takahiro grinds weakly against him and tugs at the hem of his sweatpants again and Issei says, ‘Yeah, yeah, let’s go,’ and he’s tapping at Takahiro’s thighs. ‘Jump.’

Takahiro jumps and wraps his legs around Issei’s waist and Issei finds his mouth again, kissing him wet and slick and Takahiro could probably kiss him for hours on end and not get bored.

He carries him to his bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and breaking apart so Takahiro can take his shirt off, tossing it at the desk where his clothes from yesterday are piled.

Issei’s hands go straight to his nipples, tweaking and teasing and Takahiro arches into it, moaning and tugging him closer with a hand in his hair. He throws his head back against the mattress with a dull thump and a curse as Issei laves his tongue down in a long stripe from his neck to his chest, wet and slick and sucking a nipple into his mouth.

‘Fucking- stupid wolf, you’re useless, _don’t_ lick me-‘

‘But you taste so sweet.’

‘No the fuck I don’t,’ he says and Issei laughs and nips at his chest, and Takahiro wraps his legs around his waist to grind against his crotch.

He slides his hands down Takahiro’s back to roughly tug down his shorts, his hard cock bobbing up and Takahiro lifts his legs to help him pull them off and toss them on the floor. Takahiro drags Issei back up, _needing_ his mouth, kissing him and Issei’s mouth is so warm and wet and half-slack, moaning as Takahiro tugs his hair.

‘Love kissing you,’ Issei murmurs into the kiss. Takahiro swallows, hard.

Then Issei’s big, warm and calloused hand is around his cock, pumping achingly slow and Takahiro bites down on his shoulder half in retaliation and half to stifle his whimper.

‘Take off your pants, take ‘em off, off-‘

Issei ducks down to lick at his nipple again and ignores him completely.

_‘C’mon-‘_

Takahiro kicks him and he looks up, grinning wide and dark eyes gleaming from the sunlight through the window. ‘So demanding. Weren’t you the one that made me put these on?’

‘I changed my mind,’ he says. ‘I’ve had a severe a-and continuous lapse i-in my judgement and I don’t expect to be forgiven–‘ 

‘Jesus Christ,’ Issei says, sounding amused and incredulous, one hand jacking him off tight and unbearably slow and the other teasing, rubbing at his nipple. He leans back, releasing his grip and making Takahiro whine at the lack of touch. He pulls down his sweats, tossing them on the floor and Takahiro tugs him back in close with a hand at the back of his neck the second he’s done and Issei laughs into his mouth.

He grinds their cocks together, slick with precum and growls, voice deep and low, ‘Needy _bitch_.’

Takahiro scrapes his nails up the buzzed hair of his undercut and tugs his hair hard to make up for the hastily bitten back moan and fucking goosebumps that rise on his sides at those words.

‘Fucking finger me right now,’ he says, turning his flushed face to the side in an attempt to hide from that lidded gaze.

Issei leans over to the side of the bed to pull open Takahiro’s nightstand drawer, reaching into it. His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth curves into an ‘o’ and he tilts his head to grin wickedly at Takahiro. ‘Nice toys.’

Takahiro blinks at him. ‘I’m getting real sick of you being an asshole.’

Issei rummages and finds the lube, leaning back to hover over Takahiro on his knees, caging him in. ‘And I,’ he says, squirting the lube over his fingers, ‘Am getting real sick of you being a brat.’ Clicking the cap shut, he shoves the tube end first into Takahiro’s mouth.

Takahiro’s eyes widen and he swallows and _whines_ around it, needy and small.

‘God, you look good with your mouth shut,’ Issei leers down at him, fingers slick and rubbing at his hole. Takahiro tugs him close with a hand in his hair and lifts his legs, over Issei’s broad shoulders, folding himself in half to pull him in and Issei groans, runs his free hand up his thigh, kneading his flesh.

‘So _flexible_ , shit, I’d love to see you dance, ‘Hiro.’

Takahiro glares at him and thinks as hard as he can, _that’s sweet but can you fucking get on with it._

Issei grins and then slides two fingers up Takahiro’s hole, like he can actually read his mind, what the fuck.

‘Is that better?’ he says, condescending. _Asshole_.

Takahiro wonders if he should choke him with his thighs, idly squeezing his knees against Issei’s throat. Then he wouldn’t have to hear him speak. He could probably do it.

‘Please choke me with your thighs,’ Issei mutters, unbelievably, like their minds are connected or something.

Takahiro waggles his eyebrows at him, which is all he can do and Issei laughs, soft and beautiful.

His fingers feel insanely good, making him feel so full, fucking in and out of him, long and talented, it’s like they already know exactly where to rub and tease. Takahiro squirms down against them, toes curling as Issei finds his prostate and rubs, pressing into it with his fingers.

Takahiro moans around the tube, all intelligent thought vanishing and drool forming at the corner of his wet mouth as he bounces on Issei’s fingers as best as he can, fingers tight in oil-black curls and nails digging into the thick of his bicep. Issei buries his face in Takahiro’s neck and sucks a mark into his skin, teeth nipping as his fingers pump in and out, rhythmic and rough.

He pulls them out, teasing and massaging at his rim. ‘Ready for me?’ His breath is hot on Takahiro’s sweat slick skin.

Takahiro nods, fast. He doesn’t think he can take any more teasing.

Issei shoves them back in, pulling a moan out of Takahiro and Issei laughs while pressing them mercilessly against his prostate, and Takahiro thinks he’s gonna cry but then he relents, pulling out and wiping his fingers on the sheets.

Takahiro spits the tube onto Issei’s chest where it bounces, off the bed and Issei laughs louder while fumbling to catch it, leaning in and kissing away the slight taste of plastic. He sucks at his lower lip, slow and lazy and their mouths fit together so slick and perfect.

He pulls back and Issei presses a kiss to his flushed cheek, grinding his cock between Takahiro’s asscheeks.

He swallows, flushing at the sweetness of action even with his dick poking into his ass. _God, he’s losing it._

‘Can you just shut up and get a condom.’

Issei grins, and Takahiro feels himself flush because he just knows he’s gonna say something horrible.

His voice is criminally deep. ‘We won’t need one. I’m a wolf, we can’t get human diseases.’

‘You- Shit. You goddamn fucking asshole,’ Takahiro chokes out. _He’s unbelievable._

Issei rolls his hips sudden and dirty and Takahiro’s head falls back onto the pillow, mouth slack and legs trembling on Issei’s shoulders.

‘We’re having interspecies sex, baby,’ Issei continues smugly, voice low and smooth and making Takahiro shiver. ‘Does that turn you on? Does that get you wet?’

‘You piece of shit. You’re so gross, I’m going to beat you up. Fuck me.’

‘You’re hot then you’re cold,’ Issei bemoans, the head of his cock slipping against Takahiro’s wet hole in the most horrible tease imaginable. ‘Insulting me, then begging for me. Just what am I supposed to think?’

‘You’re supposed to think that you’re a terrible person but I _need_ you to fuck me.’

Issei groans, low in his throat. ‘Well,’ he says, voice scratchy, ‘If you _need_ it then I guess-‘

Takahiro tugs him in close, heels digging into his back and grip merciless on his hair, kissing him hard and sloppy and vicious, biting at his lip and then Issei’s cock, lube-wet and hard and big, is pressing slowly into his hole. Takahiro grinds down and the head pops in slickly.

Issei pushes in, so fucking slow, bottoming out and they both moan in unison, low and raggedy and Takahiro tries not to clench, feeling like he’s never been this full in his life.

Then Issei is pulling out, thick cock dragging against his rim and _slamming_ back in brutally and Takahiro lets out a strangled cry, mouth open and gasping as the breath is punched out of him.

He doesn’t stop to let him catch his breath, settling into a wild, hard and fast rhythm from the get-go.

Takahiro tries to make a sentence.

‘I-I’m,’ he manages, legs shaking and slipping on Issei’s shoulders.

Issei grins down at him, a hand going up to adjust his leg as it bounces up and down with the strength of his thrusts. ‘What was that?’ he taunts. ‘Speak up, I can’t hear you, baby.’

Takahiro opens his mouth to insult him but all that comes out is a desperate, high-pitched whine as Issei slides his hand down to grip the base of his cock and squeezes.

‘Oh there it is,’ he says, pressing his mouth to Takahiro’s ear, breath hot and voice deep and mocking. ‘I heard you that time.’

‘Hate you,’ he gasps out, bouncing and clenching on his cock.

‘You’re delirious from how good my dick is,’ he says, rhythm stuttering and he buries his face in Takahiro’s neck, wet mouth biting another mark into his skin and Takahiro’s ankles lock together as he cants his hips off the mattress, precum slick cock sliding against Issei’s abs. Issei rubs a thumb over his slit and under the head right as he fucks into him, thick and hard and almost grinding against his prostate and Takahiro’s eyes roll back, moaning wantonly, _‘Fuck!_ Shit, _Issei-’_

‘Yeah sweetheart,’ he rasps, forearm braced beside Takahiro’s head and hips pounding. ‘Feel good?’

‘The fuck kinda question- yes _obviously_ it _feels good,’_ he chokes out, legs trembling.

Issei’s hand dips down from his cock to tease at his rim, shoving the tip of his calloused thumb in besides his cock where they’re joined together and Takahiro keens at the overstimulation, the feeling of _too much too good oh fuck._

‘Humor me,’ he says. ‘How good? On a scale of one to ten.’

‘On a scale of one to t-ten it’s, _haah_ ,’ he breaks off to whine on a particularly good thrust, head turning and pressing his flushed, sweating cheek to the pillow. ‘F-five.’

Issei laughs dazedly, hips moving impossibly faster. ‘Five?’

‘N-no. Four,’ Takahiro corrects himself, eyelashes fluttering and clinging together. ‘Definitely a four.’

‘It’s the angle,’ Issei tells him. ‘Maybe if I had you hands and knees, ass-up, it’d be better.’ He punctuates the words ‘ass up’ with a thrust that has Takahiro squirming on his cock, biting back a whimper.

‘Okay,’ he agrees.

‘Wh- Okay?’ Issei says. His hips stutter, as if he hadn’t expected him to give in so easy.

‘Yeah. Okay.’

He leans in and kisses him, unbelievably sweet and lingering and Takahiro’s dizzy when they split apart. He pulls out and Takahiro tries not to whine at the loss, shakily unwrapping his legs from Issei’s shoulders.

Issei flips him over, tugging his hips up roughly and Takahiro’s knees and elbows hit the mattress, face in the pillow and Issei is sliding his cock between Takahiro’s asscheeks.

He moans, dazed from the manhandling and Issei’s hands cradle his ass, big and rough and massaging lightly. His moan gets louder, higher, squirming into his heavy touch.

He chuckles lightly, spreading his cheeks and grinding his cock against his slick, ruined asshole. ‘Want it?’

‘No, fuck off,’ Takahiro responds. ‘ _Yes_ I want it, fuck me.’ He grinds back best as he can, fisting the sheets as Issei digs his nails into his ass.

‘Hmm.’ His hand lifts for a second and then it’s cracking down on his ass, quick and hard and Takahiro’s knees give out and he buries his moan in the pillow, mouth wet with saliva.

‘Ask nicer.’

 _‘Please,’_ he practically cries, skin burning and Issei’s holding his hips up so he can’t get any friction, his sense of touch boiling down to Issei’s warm, strong hands, his thick cock teasing between his cheeks and the pillow he’s whining into.

He clicks his tongue and lazily slaps his ass again, the other cheek this time and Takahiro squirms harder, ass swaying as he moans into the pillow. ‘C’mon. You can do better than that.’

'Please, _please-'_

A large, warm hand slides soothingly up the curve of his spine and then twists itself into his hair and yanks his head up out of the pillow.

At the same time another hard slap _cracks_ down against his ass and Takahiro almost wails.

'I want you to be loud for me, baby.'

‘Fuck, p-please, _please, haah- hnn-_ please, Issei, fuck me p-please, please I _need_ it, _please,_ ’ he sobs, back arched and hands scrabbling in the sheets. ‘You horrible fucking _tease_ -‘

‘Well,’ and Takahiro can hear the smug grin in his stupid gravelly voice. ‘If you need it.’

He slides back in with one thrust, wasting no time in going back to fucking Takahiro till he’s braindead.

His hand is tight on Takahiro’s asscheek, squeezing as his cock fucks in and out, hard and fast and it’s all Takahiro can do to hold onto the sheets and take it, head up and moans loud and slutty.

Fucking werewolf stamina has gotta be a thing, it’s unfair and also so fucking hot that a slacker type like Issei is blessed with endurance like this. He’s barely even panting, his quiet groans making Takahiro roll his hips back into him.

Then he loses his train of thought as Issei inexplicably slows down, hand going back to his hip.

‘What the fuck, wh- _come back,’_ he says, moaning at the sudden grinding pace, slow and deliberate and Issei gives his ass a squeeze, replying like a dickhead, voice smooth and smug, ‘We’re not in a hurry, are we? We can make it last-‘

‘ _Shut up_ , I wanna cum, what the hell, go _fast_ ,’ he groans, reaching back to slap at his hip weakly.

‘Oh? You want me to go _fast?’_ he says as if this is news to him, hips making languid, deep movements. ‘Okay. Ask nicely.’

Takahiro buries his face in his pillow and wonders why his cock is twitching and dripping, why this is so unbearably hot.

‘Please, you asshole, fuck me hard and fast or I’ll get someone else to do it- _Hnn-!‘_

‘Such a brat,’ Issei says lowly, tenderly massaging his asscheek where he just slapped him. ‘God, you’re so hot, what the fuck.’

Takahiro reaches back again to hit his side and Issei grabs his wrist, grip firm. Then he’s twisting both his arms, holding Takahiro’s wrists at the small of his back and Takahiro swallows.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he says heavily.

‘Yeah,’ Issei agrees, sounded so far gone. ‘You look _so_ good..’

Takahiro squirms, testing his hold and Issei tightens it, pressing down and Takahiro’s back arches further, ass pushing out lewd and dirty and he flushes impossibly harder, knowing how he must look to Issei, on his stomach, presenting his ass with his hands pinned behind his back.

‘Please,’ he repeats, weaker and needier this time. ‘Fuck me.’

Issei snaps his hips forward, slamming into him and Takahiro’s gone again, moaning and all he can do is take Issei’s cock like a whore.

The bed is creaking with the force of his thrusts, a steady pounding and getting faster every second and Takahiro is pushed into the mattress, Issei perfect and big and strong behind him.

He’s getting close when Issei’s hand slides down, wrapping around the hilt of Takahiro’s leaking cock and he slowly, firmly starts jacking him off like he can tell how close Takahiro is, that final push he needs.

He whines as Issei brushes his thumb against the slit, his chest hovering behind Takahiro’s back and his hand big and perfect, tight around his cock and Takahiro’s mouth opens on a silent moan as he cums, squirting white into Issei’s palm and he clenches involuntarily around Issei’s thick cock with a small whimper.

Issei fucks him through it, making his whole frame bounce in the sheets with his hard and fast pace and Takahiro squeezes his eyes shut at the intense mind-blowing pleasure, toes twisting and curling in the sheets.

‘Fuck,’ he says when he comes down, breathless.

‘Too much?’ Issei asks, pace slowing. ‘Should I-‘

‘No you can- fuck. Keep going, I don’t care.’

‘Okay. Fuck, God, you’re gorgeous like this, such a whore for me,’ he groans, hands tight on his hips and fucking him hard and good and Takahiro writhes, squirming and wet mouth open on a soundless moan at the overstimulation. ‘So pretty, taking it like such a good boy- so good, what the _fuck_ -‘ His voice is breaking, ragged and breath short, hips stuttering and slamming into him.

‘Cum, f-fuck, Issei, fill me up, come _on_ ,’ he groans, twitching and trembling around his cock, his own cock twitching weakly.

‘ _Shit_ , shit, you’re perfect-‘ He cuts himself off with a moan, slowing down and his hands tighten, digging into the flesh of Takahiro’s hips, one thumb pressing tight against his ass and he cums with a low groan, forehead dropping between Takahiro’s shoulder blades, his breath hot and unsteady.

He remains still for a moment, then presses a soft, tender kiss to Takahiro’s back where Takahiro knows he has a mole, he’s seen it in the mirror and knowing Issei’s seen it makes him feel something he can’t describe. He feels bare and open and seen.

Issei pulls out and Takahiro whines, cum dripping down his thighs and he collapses deeper into the mattress without Issei to hold him up. Issei drops down next to him, arm lifted up slightly in offering like it’d been early in the morning and Takahiro can’t help smiling at him, sliding his legs into Issei’s and tangling them together, pressing into his heat, uncaring of the sweat and slick.

Issei wraps his arm around his waist and they lie there, warm and tired and breathing in the afterglow.

Takahiro presses his mouth to whatever he can reach, which is just Issei’s chest and neck. Issei cards a hand through Takahiro’s hair, stroking down his back and kisses his head, nosing into his hair like he’d done this morning and Takahiro snorts softly.

‘I bet I smell like sweat now.’

‘You smell like everything good and perfect, actually,’ Issei replies, voice relaxed and warm and rough. ‘People kind of smell like what they’re like. You smell amazing.’

‘Y’know, if you’re gonna start making up shit about werewolves and think I’ll believe it, think again,’ Takahiro says, burrowing into his warm chest, feeling like he’s on cloud nine and nothing could ever bring him down. ‘Or at least make it believable,’ he adds.

‘Okay,’ Issei says agreeably. ‘When I go into rut I have a knot.’

‘Fuck you,’ Takahiro says immediately.

‘So soon?’

‘Shut up, you’re so full of shit.’

Issei’s chest shakes with laughter. ‘I’m one hundred percent serious,’ he says. ‘It sounds fake but it’s true.’

‘You’re a terrible person and I won’t believe it till I see it.’

Issei hums. ‘Seems I’m gonna have to stick around and show you, then.’

Takahiro buries his smile in his chest, kicking him lightly and he echoes, ‘Seems like it.’

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/caandlelit/status/1296420362549440519?s=20)  
> thanku for reading matsuhana nation !! please comment <3


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